


flowers grow through cement

by jugheadjones



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Courage, Eating Disorders, Hopeful Ending, Recovery, Self-Acceptance, Starting Over, Weight Gain, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 19:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16839322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/pseuds/jugheadjones
Summary: fred andrews gains weight





	flowers grow through cement

He notices when his jeans no longer hang low in the front of his hips, the way pants have always hung on him for as long as he can remember. Fred leaves his belt off on Tuesday and never has to stop to hike the waistband up, despite the heavy wallet he carries that should be dragging them low in the rear. He simply _fits_ , without aid: the front button touches his belly and the denim lies smooth against his thighs. One Sunday after Alice’s dinner, he has to unbutton his jeans. 

He wears a sweater to work come Christmastime and it no longer only touches him at the collarbone: the soft fabric holds his arms, his chest, his stomach, his wrists, and no cold air slips in the gap between cotton and skin because none exists. For the first time in a long time, no matter what size he’d seemed to buy, he fills his clothes. His arms are warm in the sweater and his body stays warm all the way down to his toes. He falls asleep with only one blanket on at night. He checks the thermostat in the trailer incessantly to see if they’re running the bill up, but nothing has changed but himself. He walks Vegas twice around the block and doesn’t shiver. 

Hugs are tighter and last longer. Friends offer up neck or back massages where they had never before. For the first time since Archie was twelve, he can lift him off the floor when they hug. FP pinches him on the rear end at Pop’s for no discernible reason at all. 

“Cute butt,” FP says with a smirk. Fred has never had a cute butt in his life until now. 

He can’t remember the last time his wedding ring slipped loose: it leaves a mark when he pulls it off at night, now, a very thin pink line, like a kiss. He sleeps on his side one night and wakes in astonishment when his ribcage hasn’t complained. 

He knows it’s dangerous to run, that he’d whittled himself to nothing once trying to be faster but he runs for the joy of it now, not the speed, because it would be criminal to move slowly when his legs feel so strong. He finds Tom Keller on a path outside Fox Forest and Tom says  _ you look good, Fred, _ and later,  _ where do you get your stamina?  _ Fred laughs and the winter air is good in his lungs and he still isn’t cold. 

He’s warm standing naked outside the shower when he gets home. 

The hollow of his neck is no longer pronounced. The water does not collect above the cliff ledge of his collarbone, which sinks reassuringly back under his skin. He flosses without bleeding. His hipbones do not ache. Walking sideways into the counter no longer leaves a bruise. 

People who barely know him tell him he looks good, until the phrase is familiar to him, genuine but bemused, as though they can’t figure out  _ how _ . He feels good: expansive and tall. His fingers no longer meet around his thighs. His mouth tastes cleaner. The tremor in his hands disappears. 

FP joins him on the couch in front of a movie, kicking his legs up obnoxiously, and tipping his head back into Fred’s lap. “Mm,” he sighs, shocked and pleased, turning more dociley over onto his side so he’s curled up on the couch with his head on Fred’s stomach; a lover’s pose, or a cat’s. “You’re nice and soft.” A ribbon of surprise runs through his words. Fred is surprised too, and happy. 

He outgrows, at last, his high school wardrobe. Gladys comes to visit and greets him with a punch to the arm which he absorbs instead of collapsing. His flu shot hurts less. He has  _ hair  _ again: darker and thicker and  _ more _ of it than before, perhaps because he leaves less on his pillowcase and in the shower drain. He had thought for years that he’d inherited his mother’s long, thin fingers and narrow knuckles, but recently his hands have begun to look as broad as his father’s. He is strong from his fingernails to his wrists. He gets milder colds, is sick less and less. 

He remembers what it is like to be a child, and eats so much ice cream that his head hurts. He makes a list of his favourite foods and finds his threshold for  _ full  _ is rising. The feeling creeps up on him, still - an absence of hunger, a revulsion at food, the reflex to purge or the stabbing want to punish himself. He turns away from the mirror and the sink and the fridge and he breathes it out of him. There is too much strength in him now for old habits to make a home.

He is stronger and softer and more gentle with himself. He persuades himself to eat until real hunger takes over: creeping up at lunch and at dinner like a clock that finally runs on time. He can no longer count his ribs in the mirror: no one grips his shoulders and complains about meat on his bones. Frayed and split from overuse, the smallest notch on his belt is relieved of duty. There is more room in his lungs and his heart as well as his stomach, he feels airy and expansive inside, like a balloon or a snowglobe that’s been turned upside down. He can stand without getting tired: he feels strong and solid on his feet. 

He’s still small: FP can rest his elbow on his head and Mary can crush him into the mattress but there is more width and strength to his body than ever before. The number the doctor reads him is completely unfamiliar, and his heart jackhammers up in fear before he can remind himself that there is no reason to be afraid. 

He has never had this body before but he thinks he could love it. 

There is more of his father in his reflection, and he doesn’t mind it. Archie must see the difference but responds warmly, encouragingly. Fred wins their snowball fight with new youth and new strength, and Archie allows himself to be beaten. They embrace and it lasts and lasts. 

He can no longer go back. 

It snows in the middle of the night. He walks down the steps of his front porch and stands in the whirlwind of it, in a body that’s new, as a person he doesn’t recognize. He tips his face to the sky and feels the cold air bite his cheeks: his scarf is thick wool on his neck, his coat fits on his shoulders. 

He’s still warm. 


End file.
